Annika

You accept the searing
Through your feet,
The agony of wind and sweat
Infecting your eyes
Several miles in.
This weight's a constant crush,
A mountain on your hurting spine.
Your lower back and cramping shoulders
Aren't forgiving.

After scores of cities,
You believe
This is simply what you do.

You do not have to die
Beneath this.
You can stop and leave it here
To motionlessly pulverize the dirt
Instead of you.

Let it drop.

- 9/11/25

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